So hey, new fiction.

As I periodically mention here, I’ve been deeply involved as of late with Vol.1’s Sunday Story Series. As the name suggests, it’s a weekly piece, either fiction or nonfiction, that runs on Sunday mornings. And on January 30th, the story in question came from, well, me.

It’s called “Revolution Come and Gone.” (The title is a hat-tip to an early-90s compilation that I listened to more or less endlessly in my formative years.) It’s the opening of my novel-in-progress Reel, and it starts out something like this:

Timon met Marianne at a Black Halos show in Seattle. It wasn’t the colder season yet, but its arrival was obvious. Jackets and a few bold scarves could be seen on bodies on the streets surrounding the club. These were melancholy hours, a time to have impractical thoughts and ponder ways in and out on walks through the city.

You can read the whole thing here.

Notes on a tattoo

Last Friday, I got my second tattoo.

The quote itself comes from the last issue of Grant Morrison’s The Invisibles, which is — I daresay — one of my favorite works in any kind of media, and one which continues to resonate with me in strange and different ways since I first encountered it in the mid-90s.

So here’s the full quote. I used the last line:

We made gods and jailers because we felt small and ashamed and alone. We let them try us and judge us and, like sheep to slaughter, we allowed ourselves to be…sentenced.

See! Now! Our sentence is up.

I’d messed around with some designs, but nothing quite seemed to fit the test. I ended up consulting my friends Alex and Scott, each of whom knows quite a bit about typography than me. Alex suggested Rockwell as a font; with that in mind, Scott came up with a pair of designs:


I then made my way to Josh at Greenpoint’s own Three Kings Tattoo, where the design was turned into what you see below (and also on my left arm). Apologies for the blurred cameraphone image — it’s still markedly better than the photos I’ve taken since then.

2011-01-14_13-01-45_698After this was done, I noted that it had taken me thirty-three years and four months to get my first tattoo, and ten after that to get my second. At this rate, I may not have any uninked skin by the time I’ve reached my forties…

Further Music & Lit Ruminations (or something)

So: God help me, I started a Tumblr page.

Specifically, I wanted to do something focusing on the one piece of record-related minutiae that I’ve always been fond of:  the bits of writing carved into the margins of records. Sometimes inside jokes, sometimes offbeat references, sometimes something else entirely. Ergo: Lock Grooves & Lit, which will be updated a few times a week until…well, I run out of records with things carved into the margins.

Also covering spaces where literature and music overlap, I chatted with the fine Austin/Brooklyn group Fergus & Geronimo for Band Booking, a new feature at Vol.1 where musicians discuss the books they love. Their album Unlearn ain’t half-bad, either.

90s Punk & Smart Folks

Tonight at Public Assembly, Vol.1 will be hosting a panel discussion of 90s punk. From the description:

On Wednesday, January 5th, 2011, join Vol. 1 Brooklyn editors in this discussion with four authors as they talk about the decade that punk broke, sold out and eventually died – but not before changing the faces of music, politics and popular culture.

Featuring: Sara Marcus (Author of Girls to the Front: The True Story of Riot Grrrl Revolution), Eric Davidson (New Bomb Turks, Author of We Never Learn: The Gunk Punk Undergut, 1988-2001), Norman Brannon (Texas is the Reason, Author of The Anti-Matter Anthology: A 1990s Post-Punk & Hardcore Reader), Maura Johnston (The Awl, Village Voice).

At Public Assembly (70 N. 6th, Williamsburg, Brooklyn), 7 PM, $3 dollar suggested donation encouraged.

There’s more information here. And Flavorpill had some nice things to say about it.

On My Favorite Citizen.

So: a decade and change ago, there was a band called My Favorite Citizen. They played a noisy sort of indie rock, and wrote some incredibly catchy songs. They released one seven inch, and a couple of songs on compilations. Scott (who’s the fellow handling most of the vocal duties in the video below) used to run a record label, so I can’t be remotely unbiased about their music. I don’t much care; these are songs I damn well love.

This is “B-29,” recorded at their last show at Brownies. It was a fine song then and it’s a fine song now. From what I hear, they’ve recently convened to make music again. This is damn good news, as far as I’m concerned.

On Waffles.

Breakfast at Off the Waffle.Besides the end of a year, last week brought with it visitors — friends old and new, both in town from scenic Eugene, Oregon. This, then, reminded me of an establishment in said Oregonian city called Off the Waffle, at which I dined for the first time in the spring of 2010. It was, as the photograph above might suggest, a ridiculously delicious experience.

Subsequently, I’ve been craving liège waffles pretty fiercely. Specifically, though, I’ve been craving Off the Waffle’s particular ability to do interesting things with the savory/sweet divide. New York has the Wafels and Dinges truck, but from what I’ve seen, their wares generally fall mainly on the sweet side of the spectrum. I suppose what I’m looking for is some sort of waffle equivalent to Greenpoint’s Paulie Gee’s — which I realize is an unlikely combination. Still, it’s a big city out there, and one where the food options never fail to surprise.


It’s just after 4 in the afternoon as I type these words. The snow that’s spent most of the last week clogging the streets and sidewalks of my small corner of Brooklyn has begun to melt, aided by the morning’s rainfall. My windows are cracked a bit, letting some fresh air into the apartment. Soon enough, the dough that’s currently sitting in a countertop food processor will be placed into the oven and the apartment will fill with the smell of baking bread.

There’s an LP playing on the stereo in my living room. It’s from a duo called Reading Rainbow, and its title is Prism Eyes. Mostly, though, I just keep returning the needle to the beginning of side A, so that I can listen to the song “Wasting Time” again and again. It’s just about perfect, as noisy pop songs go: infectious and simple and magnificently catchy.

“Feel the sun is on us now/ I feel fine/ No one else can show us how,” they sing as the song ends. It doesn’t seem like a bad motto to take with me into this newly-born year.

Some Music I Liked In 2010

So: I did a writeup of albums I liked that came out this year for Dusted. I opted to pair each of the albums with another, as I tended to be able to find…at least some common ground when I did this. (Though the Monae/Amidon double bill may have been a bit of a stretch.) This overlaps with, but doesn’t totally equal, my Pazz & Jop ballot, which I’ll link to once it’s up.

Also, I should throw in entirely non-objective recommendations for three albums that I quite enjoyed this year but couldn’t really write about (as the artists in question are or include friends of mine).

For me, writing about Rocky Votolato’s True Devotion necessitates bringing up his previous albums, most of which were characterized by an urgency and a taut style of playing. (Suicide Medicine is probably the apex of this.) True Devotion feels every bit as urgent, but there’s more of a sense of space. In other words, the quiet moments mean as much as the loud ones; the slow parts resonate as much as the uptempo sections.

Bells’ There Are Crashes is a fine six-song EP of instrumental music. On record, this is a fine, rich dose of post-rock, with cello aiding the quartet’s sinewy progressions through shifting moods and tempos. Live, they’re a very different creature, louder, more unrestrained, and even more conscious of space.

And Elk City’s House of Tongues is a terrific pop album, with Sean Eden’s shimmering guitar work aiding songs like “Stars” and “Nine O’Clock In France” towards the transcendent.

In Which Stories Appear On Vol.1

So. Recently, Vol.1 has begun to run a weekly series of fiction and nonfiction pieces on the site. We’ve dubbed it the Sunday Story Series, for reasons that should be obvious, and the first two have now appeared:

Justin Maurer’s “Insanity & the Russian Doll Conundrum”

Jonny Diamond’s “Standing on a Beach Canada Day 1992″

The next story in the series will appear on Sunday. (You may have guessed this already.) And if you have something you’d like to submit, you can do so here.

Dominoes & Amazons

Today’s theme seems to involve ruminations on new publishing ventures; ergo, a couple of thoughts on The Domino Project. I first came about it via a post on Seth Godin’s blog, which served as a sort of meta-manifesto:

The book is still an ideal tool for the hand-to-hand spreading of important ideas, though. The point of the book is to be spread, to act as a manifesto, to get in sync with others, to give and to get and to hand around.

Going to their site’s FAQ, one thing in particular stood out, given their “Powered by” status:

Will the books be available in traditional bookstores?

Yes. Amazon already distributes to bookstores, both independents and chains, and all the titles in The Domino Project will be available to any store interested in offering them at retail.

Which, I’ll admit, made me do a bit of a doubletake. That was reinforced by this New York Times article on novels in translation, which cited AmazonCrossing. Amazon’s page for said imprint states that

AmazonCrossing will acquire and translate the works and introduce them to the English-speaking market through multiple channels and formats, such as the Books Store, Amazon Kindle Store, and national and independent bookstores.

Of the seven books listed on the page, five are marked as “ Exclusive.” One of the two that are not won’t be released until January, leaving Martín Redrado’s Sin Reservas as the only currently-available AmazonCrossing title without an “exclusive” tag. And searching for it on  Powell’s, IndieBound, and Barnes & Noble’s site only gets a hit on the last of those — and in that case, it’s available for pre-order.

All of which suggests that there’s a window here, even for books that aren’t designated as exclusives — though I am curious if the same staggering will apply for Amazon’s other imprints.

In Which a Literary Protest Is Attended, Briefly

Via a post on Ron Hogan’s Twitter feed earlier this week, I made my way down to the sidewalk out in front of the Union Square Barnes & Noble after work one night. A small crowd had gathered, and a

“Ah,” I thought, “this is about Mischief & Mayhem.” (In retrospect, I’m not sure how I didn’t get this from the original post, which makes it pretty clear.) I  stepped out not long afterwards — I already knew the basics of their operation, and (here’s where I make a very awkward face) didn’t realize that a proper reading would follow the declaration of said manifesto.

With all that in mind, I’m not entirely sure what I make of M&M’s business model, or that of OR Books, with which they’re affiliated.

Mischief + Mayhem’s titles will be produced only in electronic or print-on-demand editions, and will be available, initially at least, exclusively for purchase online from the publisher. This arrangement avoids the enormous waste of the current publishing system, which ships books to stores, fails to promote them, and then sees many of them returned, unsold, to the publisher.

That said, I have been meaning to order several of their titles — namely the Gordon Lish collection, Eileen Myles’s Inferno, and now Lisa Dierbeck’s The Autobiography of Jenny X. But I’m also a fairly staunch buy-it-locally-if-you-can guy, which leaves me unsure of the ethics. Either way, I’m supporting an indie business, whether publisher or store — but the fact that OR’s model is, essentially, storeless worries me in its implications.

I also recognize that this isn’t the case for everything OR does — I could (and probably should, before long) order some of their books via my local bookstore. And they also seem to recognize this, as they just announced a partnership with St. Mark’s Bookshop.

(And there’s an entirely different discussion that could also be had, about how I don’t necessarily have this same internal ethical debate when dealing with independent music & indie record stores. On the other hand, though, my understanding of the underlying ordering structure of publishing vs. that of the music industry means that this isn’t as much of an issue. If I’ve gotten any of this horribly wrong, feel free to correct me…)

On “The Instructions”

Apparently, my theme for reading this autumn is “books the size of my hea.” First, Ulysses; now, Adam Levin’s The Instructions. (Joshua Cohen’s Witz is up next, I suspect. Or maybe George R.R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones.)

Two reviews come highly recommended. Maud Newton’s is what first piqued my interest in the novel, while Bookavore’s is spot-on in its take on the novel’s ambition, its risks, and its debt (or lack thereof) to other massive/ambitious novels of recent vintage (specifically, those of David Foster Wallace).

So: some reflections. If there is a Wallace influence here, I’d say that it’s less in the way the novel plays with text and — to a much lesser extent — with media., though those qualities are definitely present, and do suggest the comparison. If there’s one aspect of The Instructions that does call to mind Infinite Jest, it’s more the structure: not quite a proper circle, but one which buries pieces of information. It seems innocuous at first, but slowly, over the course of hundreds of pages, casual references and even simply the presence of certain names begin to become hugely significant.

Levin also uses his scope well. There’s a certain cumulative effect that one can only find in a novel of a certain size — that combination of narrative or symbolic payoff with length. (The moment in Pynchon’s Against the Day in which the book’s title is explained, for instance; having made my way through three-quarters of the novel, the force of that section, of that explanation, gave me chills.) Here, it comes very near the end of the novel; it provides context for a certain passage of text, and it’s masterful.

The novel’s coda finds Levin writing in a particularly controlled yet chaotic tone, wrapping a host of speculation and possibilities in a curiously restrained way. And it’s significant that, though Levin has created a particularly striking narrator in Gurion ben-Judah Maccabee, two of the novel’s most resonant passages are written in the voices of other characters. The ambition and thematic implications of The Instructions are impressive enough. What makes this novel even more impressive are the unexpected places that Levin takes risks — and that those risks pay off as well as they do.

In which a THE2NDHAND collection is released

allhandsonThis week brings with it fine news — in this case, the announcement of All Hands On: THE2NDHAND after 10. I’ve had a number of pieces appear in both the print and web presences of said literary broadsheet, and I have a deep fondness for the work that they do. (Todd Dills’s editorial eye has definitely challenged me, pushed me, and made me a better writer; and the experience of reading with him twice in 2007 has also made me a better reader.)

Here’s a bit more information, from their press release:

The 300-plus-page All Hands On collects previously unpublished stories by the likes of past contributors Nadria Tucker, Patrick Somerville (The Cradle) and Joe Meno (The Great Perhaps) as well as new faces like Amanda Yskamp, Ben Stein and others. Special sections over the bulk of the book are occupied in most instances by multiple shorts from our best repeat writers, from Meno, Somerville,Tobias Carroll, and Al Burian to Heather Palmer, Jill Summers, Kate Duva and longtime T2H FAQ editor Mickey Hess (Big Wheel at the Cracker Factory).

One can learn more at the project’s Kickstarter page. Worth a contribution? I’d say so.

In Which I Have Been Blogging for a Decade

Ten years ago, I started blogging. Literally: the first post to appear on my first blog — hosted by a small press called TNI Books, now sadly defunct — was dated November 19, 2000.

Looking back at it, I find myself laughing and cringing in equal measure. It looks about like what it is: the writings of an overly earnest guy prone to digressions, prone to oversharing, prone to a deep enthusiasm about books and music.

In the fall of 2000, I was halfway between freaked-out and elated: I started blogging between dot-com job no.1 (duration: seventeen months) and dot-com job no.2 (duration: three months). The first post on my blog came days before my first trip out to the Northwest: five days in Seattle and two in Portland that still resonate with me. (It’s one of the reasons I’m eventually getting  some representation of the Steel Bridge tattooed on my arm — though whether that’s tattoo no.2 or no.3 is, at this point, still unclear.)

Ultimately, it’s those first few words that still set the tone, and that still bring a smile to my face.

2:06 AM right now. Red Forty’s discography is on the stereo.

It’s a start.

(And every once in a while, something like this, its timestamp suggesting I was blogging well after 4 in the morning:

aol just crashed on me.
this is the essence of what I was trying to say in a rather legnthy  [sic] post which is lost now: Portland is very, very nice. Trying to find non-chilled Henry’s Dark in Portland is kind of a nightmare. But it’s possible.

And that, too, warms a fella’s heart.)

This whole strange system of — if I might borrow Blogger’s onetime slogan — “push-button publishing” has been good to me. I’ve made friends, learned new things, had questions answered, given license to explore. Here’s to the next ten, whatever they may hold.